by Han, George
To Kenyon, fame was never the driver behind his relentless dedication to research. Born to a middle-income family, he faced an upheaval in his teen years when a stock market crash wiped out the family’s wealth. Kenyon senior was found dead on the street outside his apartment block on Christmas Eve. He had jumped to his death.
That image of his dead father, firmly imprinted in his memory, had spurred him to excel in school and career. Each shining page of his life’s journey, achieved through sheer hard work and grit was the result of that fear of failure.
Science and technology, he believed, held the key to the resolution of the chronic depravation and suffering of man; he believed that key was already in his grasp. In the summer, a series of tests conducted by him and his laboratory team had yielded positive results that firmed his convictions that he might have found the key technique to repairing faulty DNA in human tissues, which in turn could be used to develop vaccines for a range of debilitating diseases.
Kenyon had finished two volumes and was just pages away from completing the third. Then it would be down to the conclusion. Once that was done, he would be ready to announce his work. Everything looked so promising. The prospect of a medical breakthrough fueled his drive to carry on, breaking all fatigue barriers.
Kenyon paused for a bite of his overdue dinner. He turned to the clock, which reminded him of his promise to his wife that the family will spend that Sunday at the lake. He had to head for home.
As he munched away, the only accompaniment he had was the ticking of the clock. He returned to his typing but was paused. In the background, there was a soft but constant beating of the air, like the flapping of wings.
Leo looked around his office. He found the door ajar. Had he not shut it earlier? When did he last visit the gents?
Then he heard another sound, something has hit the wall. Maybe his secretary had returned, but that was unlikely considering the hour. It might be the security guard, Pete.
“Who is there?” he yelled.
He heard no reply. Maybe, fatigue had blunted his sensitivity. Leo opened the door and thought of dialing security but curiosity had the better of him. He checked and found the lights were on as he had always left them so when he worked late. He ran his eyes over his secretary’s desk. It was clean as usual.
Fatigue has set in and he was hearing things. Maybe it was time to call it a day. He returned to his desk and begun to pack his laptop.
Then he heard it again. A flapping of wings, the impact of air draughts. The floor beneath him began to shake. His mug on the corner of his desk danced to the tremors and helplessly crashed to smithereens.
Shadows appeared behind the curtains. Before Leo could pick up the phone, the office window shattered as if a bomb had hit it. The impact threw Leo Kenyon into a wall. As he fell, he dropped his bag and the laptop crashed to the floor.
A crushing pain travelled down his spine, and he felt his back about to crack. He took a few seconds to adapt to the concussion, then struggled to his feet. However, his knees buckled and he fell again.
The flapping of the wings grew louder. Confused, Leo tried to steady himself and stand up but his knees failed him. Looking up, his eyes widened in surprise and his mouth fell open. A large, gargoyle-like creature stood over him. Its bull-sized head sprouted two pairs of ram horns and large pointed ears. The forehead was long and narrow, covered with warts. Its iron-gray complexion gave it a sense of unreality, like it was a prototype for movie-filming but it was the wings that caught Dr. Kenyon’s eyes. They were big and leathery, and lent an aura of stifling authority.
The creature edged closer, its grotesque face just inches from Leo’s own. He could clearly see its murderous eyes and sensed the pungent odour of a hungry predator. Splatter of his froth dripped onto his chest.
“What are you?” Leo asked. Such creatures did not exist in his world of logic and science. He made no attempt to run away; Leo Kenyon had too much pride to run, his hands flagging like a coward.
The creature pounced on him with a deafening roar. Leo’s ribcage cracked under the crushing weight. Blood burst through his mouth and nostrils and dirtied his chest.
With shivering sanity, Leo stared at his murderer, eyes unflinching. “You, evil…”
He saw the creature’s arm coming at him and his world went dark.
Chapter 4
Snow in September
2018, United States, somewhere in Pennsylvania
He stood perched on the thick branch of an oak tree, agape and at a loss of words. His eyes roamed over the vast pan of whiteness covering over miles of what originally was lush greenery. He searched in vain for an answer, and searched for his tobacco leaves instead.
He stuffed his smoking pipe and lit it.
Snow? Had they came just too early?
He scratched his red beard. He could be forgiven for thinking it was the first day of winter, rather than the first day of autumn.
For centuries he had witnessed the wild vagaries of the weather and exceptional ones like this day were rare. Usually there were forewarnings of drastic changes in the affairs of man, and they were seldom auspicious.
As Guardian Angel of the Kings of Men—leaders of the human race—he had been through the ebbing tides of the history of civilization and understood extraordinary occurrences as such indicated events, ominous and unpredictable, could be in store. He was worried and prayed he was only being overly sensitive.
He had come on an investigative tour of America, after being alerted by the dramatic change in weather. Saddled with big questions, hunting for urgent answers, he knew something big was about to happen.
Maganus, Guardian Angel of the Woods, folded his robust wings, which merged into his back seamlessly. With caution, he trudged across the grass, careful not to step on the small animals hidden in the snow-carpeted grounds of the woods. Despite his doughty frame, Maganus possessed the sensitivity to pick out the presence of any living beings, animals of all sorts. Most of them were his friends.
Pologus, his war-trained hawk and long-time companion, had informed him that there were some humans stranded in the woods. The snow had distorted the tracks and turned what was usually amicable terrain into unmanageable grounds. The snowy vastness made it hard for him to gauge his actual coordinates. He needed stronger validation. He whistled for his trusty friends. A long moment lapsed before he heard a familiar voice call out to him.
“Maganus the Wise?”
The Guardian Angel checked and found a squirrel standing in his path, a grayish being, taller than its contemporaries and armed with a strong, bushy tail and mature front teeth.
“Your name?”
“Jan, Lord Maganus. You are forgetful. We met just a couple of years ago in these woods.”
Maganus stroked his beard as he tried to recollect. He chuckled as he remembered. “You will forgive an old Angel. I have a number of forests, my friend. You are still a bag of energy but the texture of your fur had paled? You are aging.”
The squirrel whined.
“Your sarcasm is worse than this winter chill. You are much older than me.”
“What tidings do you bring?” Maganus asked, ignoring the comment on his age.
“Not good.”
“Pray you stay calm.”
“Sire, it is not easy for me, and troubling the Guardian Angels is my last option. It always is my last resort but just look around you,” Jan pleaded as his ears curled. “This snow is horrifying not because of its occurrence but the suddenness!”
Maganus dug into his tunic bag and extracted an aged smoking pipe as the squirrel blabbered on.
“Speak, my friend?”
“Many lives have been lost. A number of species of lesser constitution have unfortunately succumbed.”
Maganus crossed his heart. “More will follow,” he muttered under his breath.
“Yes, I am dead anxious. Do something, Lord Maganus.” Jan’s eyes fluttered in worry. “You are the Angel of the Woods, Friend of the Fo
rests!”
“That explains my presence.”
“I am glad you are here.”
Maganus puffed away carelessly. “Stop the nagging. Where are the folks?” he asked, referring to a group of trekkers, teens and their teacher who had been lost for the last four hours in the depths of the forests of Illinois.
“Can you guide me, Jan?”
The squirrel hopped around, then pointed in the direction of the setting sun.
“You had better hurry, Lord Maganus. They have been astray for hours. Their physical energy is fading, not to mention their emotional strength.”
Maganus smiled. “You are eloquent under strain, Jan.”
The squirrel’s eyes widened as he tried to figure out the actual meaning of the words but the Angel had already got busy.
Maganus clasped his hands, shut his eyes and murmured a prayer. Instantly a dead branch rose from the ground and eased into his hands. It straightened into a rod and grew to almost five feet long, as if life had been breathed into it.
“Let’s do some trekking, shall we?” he whispered to his walking staff.
Maganus snapped his fingers and instantly a shroud of light fell over him. From head to toe, his angelic white robes transmuted into the contemporary gear of a nature ranger. He knew the full accoutrements of an Angel might frighten a group of anxious trekkers. As a casual traveler, he would avoid causing unnecessary alarm.
After making his way down the trail for a good hour, Maganus found the lost travelers—an adult lady and half a dozen kids seated around a huge tree, by a boulder. They greeted Maganus with smiles of relief as he neared.
The adult spoke first. “Sir! How are you?”
Maganus offered a hand. “Hello there. Trekking this part of the woods? Morris is my name. What is yours?”
The lady voice quivered as her hand shook Maganus’s. Maganus thought he had touched ice.
“I’m Sandy. I’m a teacher and the kids and I were out on a trek. We didn’t expect this.”
“You look weary.”
“I’m afraid we’re lost.” The teacher swallowed hard and began to tear up. “We’re so glad to see you.”
“What happened?” Maganus asked, looking at the tired faces of the four boys and five girls. They must be at least three hundred yards off the main path. Nobody sensible would venture this far. They are really lost.
“It’s been two hours and we can’t find our way. Can you help?”
“Well, yes. I have been around for quite a while. Have a cabin further upstream.”
The children murmured to each other relief and exchanged looks of relief.
“Let me try to find a path. You wait here,” Maganus said and started off alone. When he was sure he was out of sight, he clasped his hands and shut his eyes. In an intense fashion, he murmured a prayer. Slowly a wind picked up, and the snow melted away to yield a mossy path.
He called out to the trekkers. “There, there it is. Is that the trail you are looking for? Didn’t you see that?”
In delight, Sandy and the kids gathered around Maganus.
“This is a miracle. A miracle.”
“No, it is not. Your eyes might have played tricks on you. I’ve been hanging around here for the thirty years, and know these hills quite a bit.” Maganus smiled, his congeniality illuminated the fleshy cheeks, bushy beard, and beaming eyes.
“Continue down this path. Go easy on the snow, nobody wanted it this way. Have faith. You will find your way.”
“Sure thing, sir. We are grateful,” the teacher said.
“Stay at home once you find it,” Maganus said.
“The weather had not been this bad for a while. Hope it goes away.”
Maganus looked around at the vast span of snow. “Yes, it will. Don’t fret, my dear. It will.”
After the lost travelers were out of sight, Jan emerged from a shrubbery and leapt to the side of Maganus.
“Lord Maganus, you are truly an Angel.”
“This is not a time to wring our hands. I think we need to move fast.”
“What do you have in mind?”
Maganus snapped his fingers and the white robes returned. He frowned and in a pensive tone said, “We need to find Gwyneth.”
“Lady Gwyneth? Commander of Snow?” Jan’s ears shot upright. “Why?”
“Just find the White Angel, good Jan!” Maganus enunciated then puffed animatedly as the squirrel stood to full attention.
“Find her?”
“Yes! Find her!” Maganus repeated, then placed his fingers to his mouth and wolf-whistled for Pologus.
Chapter 5
The Chase
Eugene’s pursuit of the darting shadows brought him to the vast countryside of New York state. It was on uninterrupted plains, next to a farmhouse when he lost track of his subjects. He had probably reached Maryland, judging by the vast stretches of farmland.
However, in place of the quilt of green and brown, he was greeted by stretches of snow. The snow he had witnessed in New York was not a sporadic phenomenon. The weather had gone seriously wrong and Eugene suspected the change was more than just the vagaries of nature.
He spotted a miasma of darkness along a strip of the farmland and began descent for a reconnaissance. The found smell of dead greeted him and soon he found the torn remains of fowls.
Somebody was hungry, very hungry.
There was a whiff of air and Eugene sensed a draught overhead. He looked up but found nothing.
He paused. He heard the heavy breathing. It was too late. He felt a force behind him, a sharp pain in his back and he doubled over and in an agile turn, landed on his feet.
He felt the pain travelled up his body. Eugene tried to numb his pain but shook uncontrollably. He inhaled and looked to his assailant.
He was stoned like he had seen Medusa, speechless.
“Bruno?” the winged-man said.
“Eugene, the medicine boy!” the gargoyle chuckled.
“I prefer ‘the Healer.’ The Archangel gave me that title.”
“Empty titles.” The Demon hissed.
Eugene noticed the blood stains at the corner of the mouth.
“Hungry?”
“It has been a while since I ate.” Eugene smacked his lips.
“You don’t belong here.”
“You don’t own the place.”
Eugene swung his warhammer and sent a ripple of energy. Bruno swung his wings over himself to block out the energy. Then he unwrapped the wings to reveal a face of fury. The ears perked up, and his bulging eyes rolled as if they were connected to batteries. The gargoyle was angry.
“Explain your presence.” Eugene demanded however the Demon was in no mood to talk. His wings stretched to full length as he struck a sparring pose with wrapped fists.
“Defeat me and you will know why I am here.” Bruno taunted with an impish grin.
“That is interesting challenge,” Eugene said with a flap of his wings, shaking off the effect of the ambush. The excruciating pain dissipating into thin air.
“My master and his master; they are going to rout you.” Saliva drooled from a corner of his mouth.
Eugene was stunned. My master and his master…
Eugene had no time to seek a clarification. The gargoyle had charged at him. Eugene parried every blow confidently, leapt back and forth, an elusive target.
The Demon was pugnacious but the Guardian Angel was swifter despite the injury on his wings. Their combat saw limb against limb, flesh against flesh and steel against claws. After about half-an-hour, with mutual bruising, Eugene had the better of the Demon, thanks to his agility.
The final blow was a ruthless slice to the right wing of the gargoyle. The Demon blanched and somersaulted onto a beam.
“Medicine boy, you have grown strong.”
“Fleeing?”
Eugene was wrong as Bruno next dived like a falling cannon ball and crushed him to the ground. The impact knocked Eugene into sickening darkness but only for a moment
.
“Healer boy. Die…”
However Eugene recovered swift enough. Stretching his wings heroically, he slipped off and, with the agility of a fish, leapt over the back of the demon and knocked him into the ground.
He sliced his warhammer downwards for the killer blow but there was an upward draught of air and the Demon darted passed him. His warhammer sent tremors upon impact on the earth.
Eugene somersaulted upwards in pursuit but Bruno was a lithe being and had darted into the open. He searched his vain but managed to pick up a trace of sulphur.
Eugene knew he had to find Bruno. The Demons had hatched a conspiracy and a sense of darkness clouded his senses. Something was gravely amiss.
Chapter 6
Insanity
Maryland - Chestnut Asylum
Full moon. The lunar illumination had turned the countryside into a picturesque of melancholic blue. The air was frosty with chill and an unusual bout of snow in September had blanketed the countryside white and deserted. The picture of melancholy was punctuated by a solitary building, a hundred and fifty-year-old structure.
The building’s location hinted of poor planning, a world away from roads and amenities, but the structure was once a mansion built for a wealthy family of maize growers in the early 19th century. It was later abandoned in the 1950s when the family moved to the city in search of wealth and status.
After decades of neglect, the aging building needed a fresh coat of paint, though the moonlight did compensate by lending a decent cloak of respectable antiquity. Refurbished six years earlier with congressional funding, it housed one of the key mental asylums of the state.
The building had some one thousand five hundred spacious units, all occupied by men and women with sicknesses of the mind. They had been abandoned by their loved ones to live, or to die, in the institute.
